Them!
by Writing1sLife
Summary: In the desert, strange things can happen. This doesn't fit the usual occurrence.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: "Sugar"**

New Mexico: A place of intense heat, sand, lots of clouds and much-open terrain. A person could literally disappear out here quickly and be found dead before help could ever reach them unless you had wings; thus the planes that patrolled the skies. You had to be fast, steady with the controls, sharp of eye and with good descriptive powers to begin to be considered qualified, especially in the eyes of the chief of the police force.

Because of this, there were only a small few who warranted consideration and even fewer who passed; those who did were able-bodied, quick to respond, and knew every quadrant of the desert like the back of their hand. The only limiting factors were weather and distance along with numbers. Apart from that nothing really ever got past them. The cars were what came after the planes. With so much distance to be covered at speed, if there was an emergency, you needed to know the exact nature of the situation and what you were getting into.

The report came in and the police cars would respond according to the calls and the location. People knew who to call, yet it was always difficult to reach in time if there ever was a situation. However not much of anything ever occurred out here in the desert. That did not mean something bad could happen; sandstorms could catch the unwary or unprepared and someone who wanted to be able to operate anonymously would naturally choose to come here. Even the planes could not be everywhere at once which would be perfect for someone sought by the law.

Today was just like any other day; almost to be precise. Breakfast and uniforms, then the report for duty, meeting with the partner, and then driving out into the desert upon receiving a call. What made this one unusual was the report from a man stating he had seen someone wandering blindly in the desert. Could have been a mirage but the guy had said he was perfectly healthy and had very good eyes. And thus it was that plane 301A found itself headed out in the area indicated and shortly caught up to car 5W which had responded to the call and was nearing the destination.

"Plane 301A to car 5W," Jonny called in, "I think that were chasing the wind out here Ben. It's looking to me like the guy who sent in that report _drank_ his breakfast. Hey, wait just a minute."

Jonny maneuvered expertly off to the left and got a better look at the movement he had noticed against the sunlit sand. A small figure moving at a steady pace in one direction not halting even from the noise of the approaching plane, just as reported. "It definitely is a kid I think, maybe fifty to sixty yards off the road. I'll keep circling around until you pick her up."

The car stopped and Sergeant Ben Peterson and his younger partner Ed Blackburn exited. Ben was the senior officer and quickly caught sight of his target and called out several times but the child continued moving along without response or hesitation. Peterson finally proceeded to run until he intercepted the child's path. Upon closer inspection of the young girl he was disturbed by several things: the child was clad in pajamas and plaid bath robe, a doll with a broken head was tucked into the crook of her left arm, and she was covered in smudges like dirt, but the worst part was her eyes which stared sightlessly ahead without blinking.

He inquired about her name and parents but received no response audible or visible. Waving his hand in the girl's face had the same negligible effect. Puzzled yet protective, Peterson scooped her up over one shoulder and brought her back to the car. Jonny flew off seeing that the child was secure. "Doesn't look like she was out in the sun too long, especially judging by her face," observed Blackburn.

"Nope," agreed Peterson, "She couldn't have been out in the sun much. It looks more like she's in shock. She didn't respond to anything I did. It's going to be difficult to place her until we can get her picture and description out."

"Jonny just called right after you picked her up. He spotted a car and a trailer a couple of miles up the road. Maybe she could be from there. After all at her age I bet she couldn't have traveled too far very fast."

Three to five miles later and the car and trailer came into view. Blackburn spared Peterson the trouble of getting out for the child had fallen asleep at his side during the ride. Blackburn moved towards the trailer and then stood briefly before signaling to Peterson. He got out, gently easing the girl down into the seat so not to disturb her. "What is it?"

"Have a look," Blackburn stated simply gesturing towards the trailer, what remained that is. A flower-shaped hole from the top to the bottom of the trailer opened out where the door would have once stood. Both stood for a minute taking it all in before entering. The place that once was the kitchen was in absolute disarray. Broken dishes, dollar bills scattered all around, clothes torn to shreds and furniture smashed into pieces.

As the senior officer Peterson was best suited to comment on closer observation of the clothes which were thoroughly bloodied. "This blood is probably ten to twelve hours old. Whatever happened here must have occurred early in the morning, or last night. Check outside for any footprints or signs of what happened here."

While Blackburn examined the exterior, Peterson moved through the ruin of the kitchen and into what was the bedroom where the occupants would have slept. A glance down prevented his foot from coming into contact with a snub-nosed revolver lying upon the ground. Peterson used a pencil in his breast-pocket to hoist it carefully and close examination told him it had been fired due to the smell. Gently he returned it to the ground, and examined a partially open cabinet beneath a small bed, most likely for a child due to its size, and found a piece of cloth and broken piece of plastic that resembled a doll's head. Armed with these clues he returned outside.

"Nothing points to this being any form of traffic accident. I mean look at the walls," Blackburn stated upon spotting Peterson.

"No vehicle alright; this wasn't caved in, it was caved out," commented Peterson rubbing his hands along the broken edges.

"Yeah and there's no sign of and movement from the trailer or car so there was no impact of any kind whatsoever. No signs of tire marks or anything that indicates a vehicle. I found these all along the ground and there's six or seven more." Blackburn tossed Peterson a cube of sugar and both men could not help but notice that upon the kitchen counter was an open pack of sugar cubes.

"There's also something else you should have a look at though it doesn't make much sense to me. See what you make of it cause I am completely perplexed," stated Blackburn leading Peterson over to a partial-ready site for cooking. "A mountain lion would never come down into a desert would it because I don't think a cat would be capable of making this."

"No," Peterson had to agree staring down at the strange print in the sand, "There isn't cat alive or dead that could make that kind of print."

"Maybe something was set down here, a bag or something like that maybe? Surely there is some logical explanation for any of this."

"No there isn't," Peterson said, "Look this is a 9-14. Put in the call and get fingerprints and equipment down here right away and also get paramedics to send an ambulance to pick the kid up."

While Blackburn made the call, Peterson checked on the sleeping child and made a few comparisons before he was satisfied. Once Blackburn was finished, he showed him the same comparison. The piece of cloth was a perfect match to the girl's robe and the broken plastic fit in perfectly on the broken head of the doll. The girl had come from this exact trailer but was the only survivor of whatever had taken place. And whatever had happened had been terrible enough to frighten her into complete silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2: "It must have been the wind"**

"How are the kids?" asked Peterson upon passing the photographer who was snapping a picture of the wall of the trailer.

"Fine, thanks, 'nother one on the way soon enough," he stated heading inside.

"Good for you," Peterson stated with something akin to regret looking around a place where one child had lost everything save her life. He also regretted not having time for anyone special in his life, not that he had found anyone yet, but he also had a soft spot for children who were not doing so well.

"Do you have any idea of what happened to her? Her name or anything whatsoever?" asked the paramedic as he loaded the young girl into the van on a stretcher. He began to move the blanket about for the most comfort.

"No, hasn't said anything since we found her. Look, whatever happens please take good care of her. "

"I'll give her a nice, gentle ride straight into the hospital and be beside her every step of the way," promised the paramedic with a knowing, gentle smile on his face as he gently fluffed up the pillow and tucked in the blanket.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a strange noise became audible. It was a foreign pulsating sound that rose and fell with strange higher notes that chilled the bones down through the marrow and into the soul. Peterson and the doctor stared out into the desert listening but seeing nothing. Unnoticed by both, the little girl slowly sat up and stared out into the desert with a knowing stricken look upon her face. For about thirty seconds it continued and slowly faded into silence being replaced only by the sound of the wind stirring up. The girl silently lay back down still unnoticed by either man.

"No idea what that was but it definitely was not any kind of sound I have ever heard anywhere." Peterson muttered in a low voice.

"It was probably the wind. It gets really freakish out here in these parts especially to those who are alone." offered the paramedic.

"Yeah," Peterson said only halfheartedly. He did not believe that for one minute; but then again, one's mind did manage to play things on one out here after some time.

He rejoined the fingerprint expert at the print, "Have any idea about this thing Cliff?"

"I haven't the faintest idea." Cliff gestured towards the trailer. "Any ideas of what went down here?"

"Nothing that adds up," was the only reply. "Better finish that thing before it's gone, looks like a sandstorms kicking up."

The two officers watched the ambulance leave with the now-orphaned child. Hard to believe that more likely than not the girl had a family the previous night as she went to bed and now she had nothing. "Kid can't be more than five or six years old judging by appearances," Blackburn replied to Peterson's inquiry as to her age. "A real tough break for her. She's the only one left and one has to wonder why. How of all those people that were in that trailer was she not one of the victims?"

"I don't know. Best thing we can do now is get down to Gramps Johnson's store and see if he knows anything," Peterson stated. Blackburn had to agree to that statement, if anyone would know anything about the goings-on it would be him.

Gramps Johnson or "Old-Man" Johnson: those titles summed up a lot, especially if you were a resident to this place or newcomer. A newcomer would not know, but anyone else could tell you that Johnson had been the longest resident in this place possibly ever; maybe not born here, but he had definitely chosen to make this place his home for the rest of his life.

He knew about the weather, the animals, everything native to the region so if anything happened and you asked him he could probably give you information which is what drew people to his shop as much as anything. He was perhaps the oldest living resident left in this place and his wisdom guided many an individual whether passing through or there to stay.

The sun was hidden by the time they arrived by the sand and also it was dark enough to tell that the sun was getting low. They were braced against the wind and braced for almost anything when they pushed open the door; almost anything.

The place was full of agonizing detail that something was truly wrong for the normally clean, and quite pristine shop was anything but. Things were smashed and broken, one of the ceiling lamps swung continuously side-to-side and no sign of Johnson. Blackburn drew his pistol and remained at the ready as the two slowly moved through the wreckage of wood and goods. "Gramps?" No answer. "Gramps?" Peterson had called loud enough that he surely would have been heard no matter where in the shop Gramps was.

A noise became audible over the consistent howling of the sandstorm and it came from the direction back towards and behind the counter where the cash register sat. It was coming from the room where Johnson's personal living-quarters were. Peterson cautiously maneuvered over towards the door and, getting an affirmative nod from Blackburn, reached for the knob, pistol unclipped in holster with hand ready to draw. The room proved sadly empty; devoid of any life save the voice which continued its narrative without skipping a beat. The bed was tucked in cleanly, but the light was still on, the kettle rested on the stove unmoved, and food rested on the table only partially eaten as though Johnson had been interrupted; difficult to tell if it was breakfast or a later meal. The radio continued its tale of current news involving the political climate of some country and new breakthroughs in medicine.

"Beats me," was all Peterson had to offer the equally perplexed, blank-expressioned Blackburn. "Best put in a call Ed…wait."

Something behind the counter in the shadows caught Peterson's eye. Amidst the wreckage protruded something long and straight, yet it looked bent at some grotesque angle partly down its length. Peterson's cloth-covered hand brought into the light the object: a Winchester rifle, Johnson's, bent and broken at an unnatural one hundred and thirty five degrees. It was difficult to hide the stunned look in Peterson's eyes, or the stone-cold dread filling his movement as he placed the ruined weapon on the counter next to the register.

The gun had been amidst a bunch of wreckage that traveled behind the counter to the storage area in the basement beneath the shop. Both men treaded slowly to the half-open entrance and Peterson wrenched open the other half and was stricken numb by what the pendulum-like movements of the closest lamp revealed as it swept past.

"Gramps…" Peterson uttered in a voice numb and devoid of emotion.

"Looks like he was dragged and thrown down there," Blackburn observed shakily of the mangled, broken body of the store owner.

Peterson quickly slammed the half of the door he was holding and quickly followed suit with the other and gave Blackburn a pat on the shoulder to get his attention to what had caught his. Peterson's gaze had been moved to the store's other end by the rattling of timber, and now both men strode towards something all too familiar.

"What do you make of this?" Peterson stated gesturing towards the familiar.

"What did you make of the trailer?" Blackburn stated already aware of the answer.

"Yeah. This wasn't pushed in, it was pulled out. Just like at the trailer."

The wall had been forcibly removed and now a gaping hole, from the top to the bottom, permitted the wind and sand some degree of entrance; along with anyone or anything else. It had been pulled out judging from the wood and then Blackburn spied another thing lying right next to the wall; a couple of barrels that had been broken into revealing grains of sugar on the inside. The senior officer shifted through the contents briefly with his fingers, which had ants roaming around the inside, and then promptly strode over to the register and popped it open before again slamming it shut satisfied with his finding.

"No money was taken here either," he stated simply. "Look, Ed, this is another 9-14 and I'm gonna go put the call in myself for the guys at the trailer to come by here on their way in. I want to be there at the hospital when that girl starts talking about what happened at the trailer."

"I'll stay here until they arrive and then I can ride back in with 'em," Blackburn stated with a hopefully reassuring smile to his partner.

"Okay," Peterson replied with a tired smile at the younger officer. "Stay loose and take it easy."

"Yeah," the younger officer replied with a hint of uncertainty creeping into him as the sergeant left. He turned and headed back to the living quarters as he heard the motor growl to life and fade gradually away. He shut the radio off and his ears were shortly greeted with the same pulsating noise that had occurred hours ago at the car and trailer.

The man briefly considered turning the radio back on but knew nothing was wrong with it. His pistol, previously holstered, now drawn again, was turned toward the door and he turned out the ceiling lamp and faded into the shadows before advancing into the doorway. If it was Johnson's killer come to claim the body they would miss the officer in the dark and thus he searched and found the switch for the rest of the lights in the shop and turned them off.

He stood briefly before moving slowly, one hushed step at a time, towards the hole in the wall where the noise seemed to emanate from. It seemed to briefly get louder as he got closer but it was impossible to tell where the source was save that it was outside. Pistol ready and eyes wide open he walked out into the storm hugging the wall. A minute later, shots rang out and the pulsating noise took on a new tone followed by a scream. Soon the only sound was the wind and the strange pulsating cry.


End file.
